My daughter is already in her thirties, and she still lives like a teenager,” sighs a mother tired of waiting for her to grow up.
Sometimes I drop by my old accounting office—not for work, just for a cuppa and a chat with my former colleagues. The other day, I stopped in again, and as usual, the conversation turned to a sore subject. Vera, my old work friend, barely stepped through the door before pouring her heart out.
— I just don’t know what to do with Claire anymore. She’s thirty-two, but she still acts like she’s eighteen. No job, no family, no plans for her future. Her phone is her best mate, and her evenings are only good for nights out with the girls. I’ve stopped giving her money for shopping sprees, but of course, I still buy her groceries and pay the rent—what else can I do?
Listening to her, I could feel this woman’s pain deepening. Vera’s nearly sixty. She’s worked herself to the bone her whole life—both in her younger years and now, when she could be enjoying her pension in peace. But no, now she’s supporting not just herself but a grown daughter who refuses to grow up or change.
— I keep telling her, ‘Just find some part-time work, anything!’ And she says, ‘I watched you slog away for pennies at three jobs my whole life, and I don’t want that.’ The only time she lifts a finger is when she babysits the neighbour’s kid twice a week—that’s the extent of her job prospects. Anything more, she says, is beneath her.
Claire had every advantage. A first-class degree, top marks from university. Sharp as a tack. And back in the day, boys were always buzzing around her. You’d think she’d be living her best life. But when it was time to start her career, she decided starting at the bottom was ‘beneath her.’ She wanted a high position and a big salary right away. But those jobs don’t grow on trees—especially not without experience.
— I’m not asking her to be some high-flyer, Vera went on. Just a normal, functioning adult! But it’s like she’s waiting for some bloke in a fancy car to whisk her off to a fairytale. A rich husband, a country estate, holidays in the Maldives—that’s her plan. Reality doesn’t interest her. If I try to introduce her to decent lads, she turns her nose up. Says they’re all beneath her—too poor, not clever enough. But what’s she ever done herself?
I could see the weight pressing down on her. This wasn’t just complaining—it was pure desperation. She doesn’t know how to get through to a grown woman stuck in a teenager’s mindset. Dreams are fine. But when they become excuses to do nothing, that’s a real problem.
— You know, Vera said quietly, she’s got a good heart. Kind, deep down. But her mind… it’s like it’s frozen. Like she’s scared to step into real life. And I won’t be around forever. What happens when I’m gone?
I nodded, thoughts whirling. Where do stories like this even start? Vera gave Claire everything—education, support, a home. But something went wrong. Maybe she coddled her too much? Maybe Claire’s just too afraid of responsibility? Or maybe she’s waiting for a perfect life and keeps rejecting anything ordinary.
— I’ve even started wondering, Vera murmured, was it me? Did I spoil her, solve everything for her? Now it’s too late to fix it.
I couldn’t bring myself to say she was to blame. Because this isn’t just Vera and Claire—there are stories like this all over. I’ve known people who clawed their way up from nothing. And people like Claire—bright, talented, but adrift. Sometimes parents’ expectations break their kids. Sometimes fear of failure paralyses. And sometimes it’s just laziness, dressed up as ‘finding yourself.’
But one thing’s certain: Vera doesn’t deserve this. She did everything she could. Now, allAll she can do now is hope that Claire wakes up one day and realises that life won’t wait for her to stop dreaming and start living.
